


Tug of War

by baiku (KasMuna)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Control, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Climax, No Plot/Plotless, Office Sex, This is a blueballing fic there's no climax I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasMuna/pseuds/baiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a test if I could write Prowlpactor. Turns out, I can. PWP, no climax. Takes place during the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug of War

Another bloody mission over. Another _**high-risk**_ mission.

High risk, meaning that every time Impactor survives, it's against the odds.

Receiving the status report, seeing Impactor's face pop up smirking to a communicube, made Prowl run _hot_. Those moments were the pay-off of his calculations, of the risks he took, and moments when his numbers were proven wrong by Impactor's willpower. He enjoyed it.  
Prowl was pleased beyond bounds that whenever he sent Impactor out to do anything, **anything** he wanted him to do, he would do it without as much than a question of where and when. They had an arrangement, and Prowl got what he wanted. He could just sit back and wait while he had his trustworthy pet do his dirty work for him, with pleasure.

He had full control.

\---

Impactor was running high on catalysin when he came stomping to Prowl's office, he knew his superior was just as happy about the results as he was. That knowledge only fueled his already confident demeanor, and when he reached Prowl's office, he slammed open the door. His large frame threw a long shadow over the floor and to Prowl's desk, blocking the brighter lights of the hallway. He made a rather intimidating looming character, but his adversary wasn't afraid.

"Mission fucking **accomplished** ," Impactor huffed out, painted in more shades of purple than one. He'd rushed straight to the office straight from the fiel, only stopping to actually board the ship off the battlefield and fly here. And now he was dragging dried gore off his armor to the floor that Prowl carefully kept tidy. 

The mastermind himself had seated his aft against his desk, leaning back and in his _shining_ black and white glory looked down on Impactor. His gaze lingered on the mess all over the Wrecker leader's frame, his expression ever-so-slightly shifting from disapproval to disgust. It was very hard to tell the differences of his expressions with how minimal he usually kept them but now it was evident on his face, on his slightly raised uppr lip and condescending gaze. Impactor, of course, didn't give a shit over the faces being just acting for the sake of the show or genuine disgust.

"You could have taken down their ship, too. Now the Decepticons--" Prowl began his usual routine of pointing out what should have been done better, after his brief look-over. It was foreplay, if Impactor was going to wait for his pointers on the spot, he wasn't up to **_taking_ ** the praise. That was something he had to take the very moment he came to Prowl, or he wasn't getting it.

Impactor didn't let him finish. Nitpicking that had clinically been picked clean of lust could clearly wait this time.  
He dashed between Prowl's waiting legs in two big steps and effectively pushed his superior off the floor and onto the desk when their codpieces met. His hand then grabbed Prowl's aft crudely, gave it a squeeze, and Impactor kissed his commander with the hunger of a soldier getting his first good meal in weeks.

In response to being lifted Prowl kicked his legs in the air a little, and hissed when he felt the harpoon dragging on the lower edge of his doorwing. Impactor's way of holding him was going to get him scratched every time, but there was something in getting a bit banged up by his loyal attack dog that he couldn't resist. Prowl grabbed Impactor by the nape of his neck, and took the rough embrace, responding with passion. The kiss worked like a password and parted his panels instantly. He'd been practically boiling the lubricants in his valve slot from the wait with how hot he'd gotten, and Impactor let out a mean, dirty laugh when he moved his hand from Prowl's aft to his stiff spike.

"You're so damn erect, Prowl. **Almost** makes me want this inside of me," he goaded.

Prowl groaned and arched his back. His hand that had retreated over to Impactor's neck, now let go, tensing in air as he gritted his teeth under the cruel grasp. Impactor jerked the spike and twisted it just to that limit before it hurts _too_ much, and Prowl could only twitch and yelp. He was helpless when being gripped by one of the greatest weaknesses that a mech can have. Impactor himself licked his lips and worked his hand up and down, the treat being not only Prowl's flustered face as he pumped his length, but his _**gaping** _ valve clamping shut when he managed to make it tense completely. Quite a feat to make it shut with how spacious it is, and Impactor loved every damn twitch he got out of it.

Of course, it didn't take long for Prowl to take control back. When he had enough, he grabbed Impactor's neck again, and kicked his codpiece. The Wreckers let go of the spike with a grunt, and Prowl pulled the space between them shut. Well, as shut as their sizeable chests allowed it to be. 

"Cool it, or I'll **really** put you in a leash. I could have your spike cut, too. You'd love to be marked like that, wouldn't you, though?" Prowl murmured, and the roar of an engine was enough of an answer. Dirty Wrecker. In retaliation from the kick, Impactor bit down on Prowl's neck when he freed his spike against the smaller one. He frotted them together a bit, up and down and then he laid his against the wet, wet valve. His spike gets covered with the hot fluids Prowl's been secreting for a good while, and with how ample his valve is, the lips hug Impactor's shaft when pressed on. He begins to grind, the hotdogging allows the blunt spike to repeatedly slide over Prowl's node. And that pleases the fragger enough to let Impactor keep going. 

But when he starts to slip _in_ the valve entrance, Prowl jerks his head back by the fin, and Impactor instantly rebels by bucking in.  
Prowl **gasps** , legs shaking, no way from the fit being too tight, but from him bucking against Impactor and getting more of that thick spike. Finally he was getting filled in for the mission. He pulled Impactor into a kiss, kept him in it by biting his lip, and in a muffled order told his Wrecker to fuck him.

Prowl orders, Impactor obeys, both of them get their own satisfaction from the exchange of power. Prowl orders, Impactor objects, _Prowl **punishes**_. The results are explosive, messy, and violent. Both of them have the same goal;

**Wreck 'n' Rule.**


End file.
